Hitched to the Don (Dark Twisted Love Book 3)
Page 13
Neo could be the perfect person to help her get rid of Javier. But only if he didn’t have any inkling of what she planned to do.
“I’ll think about it,” she said.
“That’s not good—” Neo began.
She tutted him as she touched her eyes to the Taurus.
“You’re not exactly in a position to negotiate,” she said.
He subsided a bit, but looked pissed off about it if his narrowed eyes were anything to go by. “If you’re not going to help me…”
Cora shrugged. “I said I’ll think about it.”
Neo took a step back, turned on his heel, and stormed from the library. Cora counted a few breaths and then lowered the Taurus. Her palm had gone sweaty against the grip, but luckily her hand hadn’t begun shaking. Neo might have seen that as a sign of weakness, and she couldn’t afford anyone to see her as weak. Not now. Maybe not ever.
Putting her Taurus back into the small of her back—she really had to get a holster made for the thing—she began browsing some of the nearby racks of books. Maybe she could find ‘The Art of War’ or something. And then she would know exactly how to handle someone like Javier. She smiled at the thought, grabbed a random book from the shelf, and went to sit by the window in one of the many armchairs scattered around the room.
Javier had to trust his son more than her. Neo could be useful in her plan. As soon as she’d come up with one.
27
A wedding gift
Lars led Finn out to the patio. Two of Javier’s men were lounging at the table, playing cards. Lars gave them a wave, which they responded to with a tip of their heads.
“Why’re you acting like a spy in a b-rate movie?” Finn asked as Lars’s head turned to sweep the perimeter.
“’Cos this is a code red. Or orange. Whichever one’s worse.”
Lars stopped inside the gazebo, patting the bench opposite him as he sat down. Finn took a careful seat, leaning back and putting his hands on his knees as he stared Lars down.
“Well?”
“So Gabriella, El Guapo’s wife, right?”
Finn remained silent, but with effort. He understood if this was important, but he’d done a real good job of pissing off Cora, and the last thing he wanted was her to decide she was angry enough to do something stupid.
Something like defying him and trying to take out Javier by herself.
He shifted in his chair when Lars paused.
“Today, Lar—”
“Overheard her talking to someone. Seems both her and Javier have been watching Cora’s family for years.”
Finn frowned. “A plant?”
“Yup.” Lars sat forward, elbows on his knees, and laced his fingers together. His gaze became shifty again, fixing first on the card table, and then every bush and tree that could possibly provide enough cover for someone who could be eavesdropping on their conversation. “Strangely enough, Gabby’s trying to get Cora out of here.”
Finn opened his mouth, but Lars waved away his question. “That’s what the dude called her. They seemed close. Not like—” Lars made his favorite gesture for fucking; his index finger repeatedly poking through the circle of his thumb and forefinger on his other hand “—close, but close.”
“And now?”
“Seems whatever plan they had got fucked up by Cora’s pops.”
“How?”
“I think he found the plant. I dunno—they weren’t exactly info-dumping on me.”
Had that been who Tony had discovered, Gabriella’s informant? Had Bailey—the man Cora seemed convinced she’d been in love with—been set in place by the Martins? But why? Cora made it seem like Tony and Javier were close, so close that Tony had made Javier her goddaughter. Why in the hell would he need to keep tabs on Tony?
“Think we can use this?”
Lars shrugged, taking another slow scan of their surroundings. “I don’t know if I trust Gabby, or the guy she was meeting with. They’re both super shady if you ask me.”
“So we’re back to the out ride plan?”
Lars shook his head, sitting back and letting out a big sigh as he spread his hands along either side of the bench’s head rest. “Gabby’s fierce protective over her son. Sounds fucking pissed off about the wedding. Now that—” he pointed at Finn “—is something we can work with.”
“Threaten her son?” Finn asked with a frown.
Lars shrugged. “Maybe. If we can get her on our side, we might stand a chance. She seems to have some intel about Javier. Not a lot, but some.”
Finn gave a slow nod. He wasn’t exactly keen on trusting anyone who’d been so close with Javier for so long, but perhaps it was their only alternative.
“What about supply trucks?”
“What about them?” Lars asked, lip lifting in a confused sneer.
“If they run on some kind of schedule, we could hide in—”
“That shit only works in the movies, Milo. And even then, it usually doesn’t. Nah—even Gabby said Javier’s going to be paying close attention to everyone until this fucking wedding.”
Finn drew a long, deep breath. Even just mention of Javier’s insane arrangement made him want to punch something. As silence stretched between them, a few birds began chirping in the nearby trees.
“So we let them get married.”
Lars cocked an eyebrow. “You never cease to amaze me, Milo. We taking a wedding gift with?”
Finn nodded. “Our best acting skills.”
Lars laughed. “I don’t like where this is going.”
“Me neither,” Finn said. “But if Javier thinks we’re going along with everything, then he might cut us some slack. Give us more room to maneuver.”
“And exactly how far are we going with this?” Lars asked quietly. “I mean…there’s gonna be a wedding night.”
He gave a slow nod. “There will. But we’ll be there.”
Lars sat back with a soft whistle. “Oh…one of those parties…” He pursed his lips. “Sounds like fun. But only if we tie up that fucking ‘spic and make him watch, ‘cos he ain’t touching Bunny.”
Finn let out a bellow of laughter. He cut it off almost immediately, and pressed his eyes closed as he shook his head. “You ever think of anything except fucking?”
“I’m insulted,” Lars said.
When Finn looked up, the man was wearing a wide grin.
“I think about string theory every now and then. But only when I get bored with thinking about fucking.”
28
Another fantastic fucking day
Kane parked his Jeep at the gas station half a mile up from the Elegance motel. He sat in the car, finishing his cigarette, and then climbed out and went inside the store.
He bought himself an energy drink, a bottle of cola, and a fresh pack of cigarettes. As the clerk was ringing up his items, he asked, “That motel down there? It any good?”
He’d decided on a trucker outfit today. Grimy cap, off-white vest with pit stains, and a pair of jeans that were—not—ironically torn. He’d scraped a fingernail’s worth of grease from his car’s engine and rubbed that into his hands.
It was no wonder the clerk had given a double take when he’d entered the shop.
“It’s cheap,” the clerk said.
“Busy?”
“No.”
“Safe?” Kane shifted his weight and leaned his weight on his elbows as the clerk struggled to get his scanner to read the soda.
The clerk snorted. “Last shoot out was almost a month ago, so yeah.”
“You shittin’ me?” Kane straightened in a rush, widening his mouth as if in shock.
“Nope.” The clerk banged his scanner against the counter and finally managed to get a bleep out of the machine. Kane handed over a bill before he could ask, and he shrugged as he put it in the register. “Mexican dude. Young guy.”
“They mug ‘im?” Kane asked, pocketing his change.
“Nope. Just killed him.” The clerk shrugged again.
“Yup,” the clerk said. “Whole bunch of trucks drove past, and pulled up. It was like gang-related shit, I’m sure.”
“How you figure that?” Kane asked, turning his attention back to the clerk.
“All Mexican folk.”
“All of ‘em?”
The clerk shrugged, crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back a little so he could point out the parking lot. “Think there were some white folk by the motel door—” he glanced at Kane “—it was that room right in the middle, see?”
“Fuck, man,” Kane said, taking a step back and nudging his cap back so he could scratch at his scalp. “Guess I’ll have to find some other place to crash.”
“Only place for miles,” the clerk said. “But yeah, weird shit like that happens every few months around here.”
“You say gangs?”
“Probably. Sometimes a guy in one of those expensive LandRovers comes here.”
“To stay?” Kane asked, incredulity making his voice waver.
“Nah. Just parks there by the office.” The clerk pointed out the sign-in desk. “Stays a few minutes and then leaves again.”
“That’s some sketchy sounding shit.”
The clerk gave a non-committal shrug and sat on the cracked leather seat of the stool standing behind the counter.
Time to go.
“Hey, it okay if I leave my truck here? I just want to go check out the place first.”
“Sure thing,” the clerk said.
“Hey, thanks, man.” He lifted his drinks and smokes.
The clerk waved at him, yawning as Kane turned away.
He got a fresh cigarette from the pack, chugged down half of his energy drink, and went back to his car. He grabbed a jacket from the back, glanced up to check the clerk wasn’t looking in his direction, and pulled off his loafers and jeans. Them he replaced with a pair of neat slacks and dress shoes.
He made for the Elegance, moving fast so the clerk wouldn’t notice he’d changed his pants. As soon as he was clear of the clerk’s front window, he snatched the cap from his head and tossed it into a nearby bush. There was a button up shirt folded inside the jacket, which he slipped on over his vest. There was hand sanitizer in the one pocket. He used it to scrub his face and his hands until there wasn’t a hint of grease clinging to him. The suit also had a small vial of cologne in it—one of those that sometimes got included in men’s fashion magazines—and he rubbed some of it onto his ankles. It would make the cologne less overwhelming, and make it seem as if he’d been wearing it the whole day as it mixed with the rest of his scent before reaching anyone else.
A small trick he’d learned from a hooker a few years ago.
Lord rest her soul.
He ran a small comb through his hair, drawing it back from his face, and then adjusted his suit and shirt so they were slightly rumpled.
He tugged out his DEA badge and hung it around his neck, sliding it under his collar as he stepped through into the motel’s small reception room.
The instant the guy behind the counter turned to him, he knew this would turn out to be another fantastic fucking day.
29
Revenge of the most brutal kind
Despite how hard he squeezed his eyes shut, Tony could still see an afterimage playing on the back of his lids. A huddled shape, and the monster looming over it.
There was nothing he could do to drown out the screams.
Doctor Gomez avoided looking at the monitor Javier had wheeled in yesterday. Refused Tony’s pleas to turn off the video it kept playing. Refused even to look at him now.
A gift, Javier had called it.
But a video capturing the containment and abuse of his daughter, Cora…it was nothing more than one of Javier’s many sadistic ways of torturing him. And he still thought of her that way, despite what Javier had said. Perhaps because of what the man had said.
The video was set to repeat. An hour long recording he’d already seen twenty times.
There’d been no sleep for him last night. There would be no sleep for him tonight, even if Javier decided to take the monitor away or turn off the video.
Someone had come to bring him food, but he’d left it to go stale on the nightstand. He hadn’t drunk a drop of water. When they’d put an IV in him to replenish his liquids, he’d pulled it out.
He’d been handcuffed to his bed. All he could do was sit here, skin tight where tears had dried on his cheeks, as Cora’s high pitched, six-year-old screams chased monstrous shadows through his mind.
30
An unexpected visit
Hunger drove Cora from the pages of the book she’d been reading. When she looked through the window, she saw the sun was well past midday already. What time was it? She snapped the book closed and tried, unsuccessfully, not to hurry from the library. The last thing she was going to do was scurry out of here at the thought Finn would be upset with her. If he’d been desperate enough, he would have found her. No, he and Lars probably still had their heads together, trying to figure a way out of the compound.
Which is something she should have been doing, instead of sitting in the library all day reading. She’d given her own plan a lot of thought and, on the plus side, she didn’t feel like caving Finn’s head in with a pan anymore.
The villa was quiet when she swung open the library door. She glanced around first to make sure no one was in sight—last thing she wanted was to run into Neo again—and then she slipped outside. A scent caught her nose; one of the flowers planted in the gardens had begun blooming. The fragrance was heady, and irresistible. She followed it deeper inside the garden, wrapping her arms around herself as the chill of the receding day touched her.
Her soft footfalls on the cobbled path that wound its way through the intricate garden were the only sound. A statue caught her eye. It was the one she’d seen on her first day here and she’d never come back to see what it was. She detoured now, feet crunching over gravel, and came to stand at the base of the statue.
It was a likeness of Santa Muerte, so detailed that it made a shiver rush through her spine. Had it not been put on a plinth about two feet high, the statue would have been the same height as her. Empty eye sockets stared at everything and nothing. A steady grin spanned from cheek to cheek. On this statue, Santa Muerte’s scythe leaned against her, but she had both hands around her crystal ball, cupping it as if daring whoever was nearby to let her read their future.
Could the saint see into the past, too? Could she tell Cora why her sister and mother had to die all those years ago?
A familiar scent hung in the air here, one that made her think of leather and hay. What about the present? Could Santa Muerte look into her crystal ball and tell her if Bailey was still alive?
Cora reached out hesitantly, touching the smooth marble forming a fold in La Flaca’s robe. It felt frigid and silky beneath her touch, like ice. She shivered again, but not from the cold of that marble. It had been a few days since she’d last thought about Bailey. What could have brought on—?
“Beautiful, isn’t she?” came a voice from behind.
Cora jerked. When she spun around, her mouth was already open in shock. She stepped back, heels bumping against La Flaca’s plinth.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” the man said. Despite the mid-afternoon sun blazing down on the garden, the hoodie he wore over his pale vest was up, casting his face in shadow. But she’d recognized that voice, just as she’d recognized his smell without realizing it.
She forced out a breathless, “You’re not dead.”
Bailey chuckled. “That makes two of us.”
She put her hands over her mouth, shoulders jerking as she held back a sob.
“Ssh,” Bailey murmured, stepping
closer as he lifted the first two fingers on his hands.
“I thought—” But then she stopped speaking. Finn had told her he hadn’t killed Bailey, but she’d heard the gunshot. And for hours, she’d thought he was dead. Even after everything Finn had told her, some part of her feared she’d never know if he’d lived or died.
There was a moment of frozen time, where all she could hear was the thumping of her heart, and then she shot forward and threw herself at him. He made a surprised sound when she struck him, but then he wrapped his arms around her tight, squeezing her so hard that she struggled for breath.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” she whispered into his chest.
“Life is funny like that,” he said, still holding her and seeming as reluctant as she was to let go.
She pushed away from Bailey, staring up at him. “What are you doing here?” She drew away, and he finally released her, his gray eyes dropping to the ground. Then he glanced around, grimaced faintly, and guided her to a nearby bench. Sitting, he pulled her down beside him.
He closed his eyes briefly, as if he was summoning up the courage to tell her something. Which terrified her, because she knew Bailey feared nothing except horses.
“Your father…” Bailey inhaled deep, and then twisted to face her on the bench. He looked as if he wanted to touch her, but he held back. Just like he always had.
“I know,” she said.
Confusion creased his brow. “You know?”
She nodded. Swallowed hard. “I was there.”
“You were?”
“When Zachary killed him,” she said, frowning too. “I was there.”
Bailey’s face cleared in an instant. “Tony’s dead?”
She shook her head. “Yes. Why…what were you—?”
“Holy fuck,” Bailey murmured, turning away from her and putting his hand over his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut, and then turned back to her. “You were there?”